


A Slow But Certain Regard

by Kimono115



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bad Flirting, Feels, Ficlet, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Slow Build, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Until it is resolved;, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimono115/pseuds/Kimono115
Summary: As the Company makes their way toward Erebor, a slow affection begins to develop.A series of scenes taking place over the course of the three films showing Bilbo and Thorin coming to terms with their feelings for each other.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

It was through a fine morning in May that the company of Thorin Oakenshield passed. The trail they followed was both green and pleasant and would have been easy work for fourteen ponies and Gandalf’s fine white horse. Worst of luck, they were long gone, vanished during the incident with the trolls. It was in a very sad state that the dwarves and Bilbo were left, covering the many miles of the Great Eastern Road on foot. 

It had been weeks of this now, and even when they had still had the ponies, Bilbo’s worst suspicions of travel had been confirmed. Everything was dappled with mud and all the dwarves had a lingering smell of horse. His good coat was now weathered and faded; his waistcoat worn through. It was a terrible way to be going about things. 

Despite the drudgery of the walk, Bilbo found the air to be warm and clear in a way unique to an early summer morning. The trees they were passing under were tall and ancient. Their branches reached up, yearning towards the sun with spread emerald leaves. The surrounding hills were crowned with wildflowers; Bilbo could see foxgloves, yarrow, red clover and dandelions growing in vast explosions of colours, peppered with the bees swarming about. It would have been a very agreeable morning to sit on the front step of Bag End with his pipe, as he was want to do when the weather was particularly fine. 

‘I would speak with you, Master Baggins.’ A deep voice broke through his thoughts as Thorin fell into step beside him. Bilbo was dismayed. When they had first met, Bilbo had found Thorin to be ill-tempered, mistrustful, and quick to anger. After weeks of travel, nothing had occurred to change this. 

‘Of course, at your service.’ Bilbo said hastily then paused politely, waiting for the dwarf to say his piece. To Bilbo’s further alarm, Thorin did not seem to be in any great haste to begin. 

'Your weapon, I would see it.’ 

Bilbo passed the sword to him wordlessly, for all it was a fine blade he did not truly know what to do with it yet. A table knife was more his speed. He had every intention to learn, however. 

Thorin brandished it with a fierce, steady certainty. The movement was brisk yet flowed: a promise of raw steel for anyone foolish enough to cross him. ‘A fine blade’ he then said, ‘for all it is elf made’. He passed it back. Bilbo couldn't help but notice that Thorin didn’t appear to be interested despite his asking. 

‘It is very fine, and I intend to use it.’ Bilbo replied grandly. 

Thorin smiled faintly at this. ‘Do you?’ He appeared more lost in thought than actually listening to Bilbo's words. 

Bilbo bristled and stayed silent. He had found the question to be vaguely insulting. It was confounding how Thorin treated him. Bilbo knew himself not to be a warrior, a ranger or even a burglar. He didn’t believe he had misled anyone on that particular front in any way, shape or form. He had never been spoken to in his life the way the dwarves, or even Gandalf, addressed him. His family was wealthy, ancient and (this bit was very important) of impeccable standing. They had a fine home, an extensive larder, a deeper wine cellar, a tidy garden, and Bilbo had spent his life being courteous and polite to his neighbours. All of this appeared to not matter one jot and he could not get over it. 

To make it worse, he found it to be tiring work walking with Thorin. The top of Bilbo’s head barely brushed the tip of Thorin’s nose and he found had to take great steps to keep pace. Thorin moved swiftly despite the layers of fabric he wore, his heavy fur coat inlaid with strips of armour in the bold geometrical pattern that was favoured by the dwarves of the company. The simplicity of its cut suggested he was ready to ride, travel or fight unencumbered at any moment. 

Huffing and still unwilling to speak, Bilbo looked about. Already they could see the rise of mountains in front of them, blue and speckled with snow even as late in the year as May. The peaks started as a series of hills then carried on in a great crescendo of craggy tops and deep valleys, lifting up high and mightily into the sky ahead. They both regarded the view slowly. It was truly a sight to behold. 

This prompted some words out of Thorin. ‘It was quick of you, last night, with the trolls,’ he began. ‘It was cunning to play for time as you did.’ 

‘It was the only sensible thing to do.’ Bilbo replied, having no wish to remind Thorin he was the one who had first been caught. 

Thorin grunted. Bilbo suspected that he had indeed not forgotten that unfortunate fact. 

‘I have been.... mistaken in my judgement of you,’ Thorin then began again. He seemed ashamed for all his harsh look. There was a gentleness that had not been there before. It was astonishing, for Bilbo had not been expecting this from Thorin who had so far been quicker to resent than to forgive. 

Bilbo’s earlier irritation melted away like mountain snow. Suddenly his family’s pride mattered much less than it had mere seconds before. To be complimented as such! It was a wonderous feeling. Maybe compared to this, the fineness of Bag End was not quite as important as he had always reckoned. 

‘That’s quite all right. I doubted myself as well.’ Bilbo said generously. He was perfectly willing to make peace and let bygones be bygones. Anything for an easier life. 

‘Be that as it may, it was still an ill thing to do.’ Thorin replied. Evidently having then having felt he had said enough, he became quiet again. They walked on. There was now something different between them, an easing. It was more pleasant than what had been before. Bilbo glanced at Thorin; their gazes met. 

‘I would ask your forgiveness,’ Thorin said. He truly did seem to mean his words. Bilbo’s stomach did a somersault. 

‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ Bilbo said as he was beginning to feel very uncomfortable with the conversation and wished it to end as soon as possible. ‘Really, I mean it.’ 

'That is very kind of you.’ 

Now this really was too much for Bilbo. Deciding he had enough, he gave a strained laugh. ‘If anything is needed now, it’s a decent meal! And soon, I'm half the hobbit I used to be’ he said, spreading out his fingers in from of him as if to show his new slender hands (though in truth there was not much difference from when he had set out on the journey). 

Thorin slowly ran his eyes over him. ‘There’s not enough of you to spare, Master Burglar’. He did not smile as he said it, though the weight in his gaze lessened and was replaced by a different thing. Bilbo was taken greatly aback by the change, even more so when Thorin looked at him with a stern expression that was betrayed by his own eyes where a light gleamed like the slow spread of dawn through hoary trees. It was a heady thing. 

A flame ran down Bilbo’s back, spreading up his neck towards his face. He didn’t know what to say to a thing like that. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to. There came a great baying, an awful malevolent howling commotion that had him ducking in shock. It was like no sound heard amongst decent folk and had all the dwarves looking around wildly. 

Thorin gave a great yell. ‘Wargs! Move quickly!’ This was enough to break the stillness and sent the company scrambling, breaking into a shambolic run as they heard the barks and the striding pace of the great beasts beginning to bear down upon them. 

Bilbo, eager not to be left behind and unnerved by the terrible howling coming from behind them, began to run as fast as he could. Thorin laid a great hand on his shoulder in encouragement, his hand fiercely squeezing his shoulder before going off and away, bellowing commands, calling for weapons to be drawn. 

Bilbo stared down at his own sword and unsheathed it enough to see the clear steel of the blade. It glowed a pale blue in the sunlight. Orcs were close.


	2. Chapter 2

The house of Beorn was a truly splendid hall, Bilbo had never before seen it’s like. As he went from room to room, he would draw to a standstill with admiration of it all. The wooden walls of the house stood dappled with light as the sun cast a honeycomb of tawny gold across the broad beams. Each shade of brown was as rich and warm as honey. The room he was stood in was filled with wildflower scents and the heavy unmistakable smell of living things. It stood as a testament to the nature of their host that even the mice were allowed to roam freely about. Bilbo found this charming if peculiar. 

The dwarves, accustomed as they were to the quiet, still ways of metal and stone, found this arrangement to be unsettling. Livestock wandering about was certainly not what they were used to! There was a great deal of muttering and arguing as a result at this unnatural behaviour. 

‘It’s not right, this place,’ Nori said first, ‘bees as big as your head flying round!’ With impeccable timing a honeybee the size of a dinner plate gently wafted past. 

‘But what should we do?’ His brother Dori was next, peevishly lifting a protesting mouse from where it had taken up residence among the breakfast things. 

“We wait and recover our strength,’ Gandalf told them sternly. He was beginning to look distinctly harassed. ‘And don’t do anything foolish! Our host is not to be tested by the insolence of dwarves.’ 

‘Listen to what he says,’ Thorin told them all before stomping away. He joined Bilbo where he was stood and remarked more quietly ‘we do not have time for such foolery.’ His manner was as surly as the others but there was something very different playing on Thorin’s mind. The days of summer were drawing in, the short nights were beginning to lengthen. Durin’s day was ever closer. 

‘Beorn keeps a friendly house,’ Bilbo said more reasonably. ‘We would do well to stay awhile.’ Anything that was good enough for Gandalf was fine by him. It helped that he was reminded in no small way of his own home festooned as it was with green, growing things. 

‘Fine, but I will not sit quietly. A game, Master Burglar?’ 

‘Chess?’ Bilbo suggested looking at the heavy wooden board that sat in the corner of the hall. 

Thorin’s face took on a black look as he picked up one of the oversized chess pieces from Beorn’s set. It had been carved for a man much bigger than him. 

‘Are you all right?’ Bilbo asked, being very tempted to laugh but deciding instead to err on the side of caution. 

‘Not chess.’ Thorin replied in a manner that invited no response. 

It was not to be for it was then that they heard voices raised in anger. With the company’s nerves so precariously frayed a full argument had broken out. From the great shouts, it was one that threatened to come to blows. As Thorin turned to bellow at them, Bilbo with no great desire to be involved, slipped away. 

He was slightly taken aback at having been addressed so directly by Thorin. This was part of a new and startling habit that Thorin had started to develop. He appeared to be seeking Bilbo out specifically for his opinion. Thorin had also been brooding less, smiling more. All in all, he appeared to be very favourable towards the hobbit indeed. 

Bilbo was very far off from wanting this new regard to lessen. But he was his own hobbit and had little interest in being drafted into keeping stubborn dwarves in line so he decided to go outside, curious to see if men who were sometimes bears kept gardens. He did indeed find an extensive and well-tended patch filled with vegetables and herbs. 

Beorn clearly had a formidable appetite. Bilbo felt grave respect for this. He was proud of his own tidy garden and the prize winners it produced. In fitting with his station as a gentle-hobbit, he employed young Hamfast Gamgee to take care of it (this being before the days when Hamfast became commonly known as the Gaffer). Prize winning vegetables were an entirely different matter and one he saw to himself (this being after the days of the invention of vegetable competitions). 

Beyond the garden there was a copse of trees containing an oak surrounded by firs. When the wind blew, they spoke to each other with a vast rustling of leaves. It was a sound almost as old as the earth itself. The oak stood highest; ten hobbits stood with arms spread wide would not have been able to encompass the trunk. Bilbo had never before seen such a giant of its kind. An adventurous mood snuck up and took him unawares. Before Bilbo knew it, he was halfway up the oak tree, shifting through acorns. 

He was in luck, there was an early windfall hanging in the oak tree’s branches. Bilbo picked one, admiring the smooth colours before stowing it away in his pocket. He laughed, suddenly very cheerful at what he deemed his first act of theft (for in truth he did not regard the taking of the ring from Gollum as stealing). 

This was where Thorin found him. ‘I would have thought you’d spent enough time in trees,’ he said wryly. 

‘Oh hullo, Thorin.’ Bilbo said, thoroughly enjoying himself. He climbed back down easily enough. ‘Are the others all sorted?’ He dusted bark off his waistcoat but it was so battered it made very little difference. 

‘They will be fine,’ Thorin said. He reached out and removed a twig from Bilbo’s hair and then looked immensely embarrassed. ‘You should take a braid to mark your actions on the craig,’ he said a little too quickly. 

‘A what?’ 

‘A dwarf custom.’ 

“I’m not familiar with that particular....thing.’ Bilbo said. 

‘Well, no matter then.’ 

‘You should tell me if you want to.’ 

Thorin smiled. ‘Another time, perhaps. I did not find you to lecture you. Why did you do it?’ He asked, abruptly changing the subject. 

Bilbo blinked slowly at the shift in the conversation but knew what Thorin meant. After the battle on the cliff edge where he had saved Thorin’s life there had been little time for discussion. The pale orc had found their trail swiftly, too swiftly. The race to Beorn’s house had left no time for reflection on what had gone on before. 

‘Because it was the right thing to do,’ he said simply. ‘I don’t regret it. I much prefer it now we’re on better terms.’ 

‘As do I.’ 

Bilbo did not know what to say to this. He had done what he had done and did not regret it but he also found he had said everything that was needed to be said upon the subject. ‘You are full of cheerful thoughts today,’ he said finally. 

Thorin actually laughed at this. It was a startling sound, a bit rusty, as if it was not something he did very often. It was a sound that made you want to hear it again. They were standing very close now, close enough for Thorin to clap Bilbo on the shoulder with a heavy hand. Bilbo was not knocked down by the force but it was a close-run thing. 

‘You are a worthy ally.’ Thorin’s hand was warm. He did not move away quickly and the hand lingered there on Bilbo's shoulder. Thorin lowered his head. His mouth was so close to his ear that Bilbo could feel the breath warm against his skin. ‘I find myself no longer able to do without you.’

‘A word, Thorin.’ They broke apart immediately. It was Balin, he stood awkwardly in the doorway of the hall. ‘My apologies, it’s urgent.’ 

Balin gave a nod of acknowledgment to Bilbo then assumed an expression of intense interest in one of Beorn’s cabbage patches. This was unusual behaviour as none of the thirteen dwarves of Thorin’s company had ever let on so much as a passing interest in the mysteries of cuisine typically not fried. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but you must understand that hobbits were careful not to discriminate when it came to the important matters of food. 

Thorin turned away but the movement was filled with regret. He did not look behind as he left. If he had he would have seen a slightly dazed Bilbo try to follow and discover that his legs no longer worked as well as they once had. 

As Bilbo would rather have thrown himself off the roof of Beorn’s house then let Thorin see him falter, he waited until Thorin has vanished from view before sitting down with a weak laugh, right in the middle of a patch of honeysuckle. Dumbfounded with petals covering his face and poking up his nose, he gave a long-suffering sigh. Confound these dwarves! This certainly hadn’t been covered in that blasted contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note – It is not likely that any acorns picked as early in the summer as July would be able to germinate when planted. It also seems doubtful that even a fully grown acorn picked at the right time in autumn would have lasted the many months between Bilbo at this point in the story and the journey back to Bag End when he is reputed to have planted it, but my understanding of acorn husbandry is limited. Possibly a wizard did it.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a black and unwelcoming hour that saw Bilbo creep along the great stairs of Mirkwood. His feet carried him swiftly downwards with cobwebs still stuck behind his ears so great was his haste. As he ran he held a ring of keys carefully so they did not jangle and give him away. For the first time he was being what they called clandestine. Who ‘they’ were, he imagined to be, the sort of people who wore dark hooded cloaks, loitered about in doorways at night and knew all about this sort of thing. 

Bilbo had taken the set of keys from a well-dressed elf who looked to be a steward, passed out along two others who Bilbo had judged from their uniforms and emblems to be guardsmen. They were not at that time doing much guarding, unless the table they were collapsed face down on was a bigger flight risk than one would first presume. Their breath had stunk of too much rich wine. If Bilbo stood back, he could practically see the fumes rising. The theft of the key had been the easiest piece of work of the journey so far. 

Bilbo had speculatively taken a sip from one of the abandoned cups (as one should always try the wine). He had immediately regretted it for it held the pungent taste of exceedingly musty crushed flowers coupled with a strong note of cassis (in the language of wine taster's ‘cassis’ translates into ‘that was far too much blackcurrant, what were you thinking, this is supposed to be a fine wine not potpourri’). It was so horrid he immediately spat it back out, cursing. 

Like the wine, Bilbo found the dwelling place of the Elf-king of Mirkwood to be distinctly overripe and stale with age. The halls were gold-resined, preserved in time like an amber drop. As with the forest surrounding it, despite the beauty corruption lingered. 

He had first seen the ambush of the company from afar. Sting in hand (newly christened and wet with spider ichor), Bilbo had stood silent under the trees, watching the elves seize his friends. His instincts had urged him to remain hidden and they served him well. He did not fear for the dwarves' lives, these elves had not strayed that far from the nature of their more civilised kin. But there were other fates to consider. What was worse, the company did not have time for this. They had a deadline to meet. He owed it to his friend, Thorin, to get them out and as soon as his wits would allow. He was a burglar; he should be able to do it. 

It was with this new found confidence that Bilbo had trailed the troop, Gollum’s ring on his finger and so he passed unseen in the sight of mortal and elf alike. Hobbits could be quieter than a mouse at the best of times but Bilbo was as silent as the whisper of a cat’s tread as he ran. But he had barely been in time, he scraped through the doors of the elf halls as they closed (the loss of his buttons in the caves of the Misty Mountains proved most useful here). 

It was easy enough to find the dungeons, he just kept heading in the traditional downwards direction. Soon enough he rounded a corner and was greeted with distinctly dwarvenly rambunctious shouts of joy. It was most gratifying to hear after he had taken so much trouble to find them all. 

The look that Thorin gave Bilbo when he opened his door was worth all the trickery and bother. It was a victorious look. Bilbo had rescued the dwarves who had put their faith in Thorin and he in turn had not let them down by putting his faith in Bilbo. 

‘Remarkable,’ Thorin said. ‘Gandalf was indeed right about you, Master Burglar.’ 

He hesitated half a second then pulled Bilbo in tight. Bilbo found himself being seized and pushed against the wall of the cell. It was a bruising kiss. It was a shock, after Bilbo had been so bent on stealth and remaining unnoticed to be so very seen, to be so recognised but that did not stop Bilbo from wrapping his arms around him and kissing Thorin back. He managed to overcome his own surprise, a miracle indeed. 

Shudder in pleasure at the feel of lips against his, teasing in motion. His muscles loosened from the force of the kiss – there was no melting! But it was a close-run thing. 

Thorin drew back, his hands cupping Bilbo’s face. They were now directly at each other, Bilbo had admired Thorin for a great many weeks now in a way that had been distinctly more than platonic. Bilbo had admired his scars, his muscle, the memory of his courage, it was enough to stir a need and run his hands all over him. 

‘I had only allowed myself the smallest measure of hope, that such a worthless affection as mine would be returned in kind,’ Thorin then said. 

To say Bilbo was surprised by this turn of events was an understatement. He was under the impression that Thorin had not yet encountered a sentiment that he had been unable to bludgeon into submission. 

‘You great fool,’ Bilbo said huskily. ‘Why would you think a thing like that?’ 

His skin tingled when Thorin cupped his face, warmth and excitement spreading out in a thrilling wave. But Bilbo decided enough was enough and that it was time to listen to his better judgement rather than the heat building in his stomach. He removed Thorin’s hands gently (whilst noticing that they looked to attractively tanned from a life time of hard labour) and then tore away, keys ringing triumphantly as he unlocked the other dungeon doors that held the rest of the company of dwarves, going down door by door. 

‘Thanks very much,’ Kili smiled and clasped him on the back before brushing past. 

‘Never doubted you for a moment, lad.’ Bofur was radiant under his hat and protruding moustache. The dwarves leapt like coiled springs from their cells as Bilbo unlocked each door, moving with the stern and unyielding purpose of soldiers, voices held low in order to not draw attention. The more warlike scouted out doorways and looking out watchfully. The others were casting about for anything that might prove useful. Bilbo saw Fili break off a candelabrum from the cavern halls and test its heft while Dwalin rolled his eyes. Bombur swept a mound of fruit off a table and into his vast pockets. 

Thorin was there when Bilbo turned. ‘We shall speak of this again.’ Thorin spoke low in a tone that was not to be gone against. 

‘Yes, but later,’ Bilbo said sharply. ‘We need to go, and quickly!’ 

‘I fear no craven elf lord,’ Thorin said only for Bilbo to start hassling him up the stairs and out of the dungeons. Bilbo trusted the rest of the dwarves to follow like ducklings after their mother. This was probably an overly sentimental view to apply to twelve (usually) heavily armed dwarves but it was not inaccurate. 

‘Well, you should ‘fear’ this one,’ Bilbo said hotly as he was beginning to become red faced with exasperation. He was also distinctly aware of the combined stares of the afore mentioned dwarves blazing a hole in his back. 

Thorin appeared to enjoy Bilbo’s discomfort very much but also had to listen to his own good sense (as seldom as it spoke to Thorin) and he knew it was time to do as Bilbo advised and leave. 

It said a lot about the awed respect that the company held Thorin in that no dwarf so much as breathed a word of the scene that they had most probably witnessed. Besides, better things to be doing and all. Time to heave to and fly! (In all honest truth the company was just glad it wasn’t an elf, when they considered it at all. Kili had managed to set expectations exceedingly low.) 

*** 

Thorin thrashed out of the shallows of the river bed, battered, bruised and soaking wet. He counted the dwarves quickly, taking muster. He was deeply relieved when he found that all the dwarves were accounted for. But there was still one member of the company missing. 

‘Where is Bilbo? Everyone, look for the Hobbit!’ He left the cluster of dwarves who were in the various stages of drowned to exceedingly drowned, splashing back into the river which had so recently spat him out. ‘Bilbo!’ 

Bilbo raised a weak hand; he had taken a heavy pummelling in the rapids and had swallowed more than enough water to begin to feel distinctly unwell. He thoroughly regretted the route his escape plan had taken. The only thing he could have done that would have been more suicidal would have been wandering through Mirkwood with a bucket on his head shouting his opinions on various elves parentage (or lack of). 

Thorin went to him immediately, splashing back into the water to where Bilbo was floundering and helped him stand upright fully. 

‘It’s alright, it’s alright,’ Bilbo said. ‘I’m quite capable.’ He did object to being manhandled like so much luggage. 

Thorin stood back with a brief flash of a smile. For a moment he looked relived but it was gone soon, the walls coming back up after such an abrupt display of emotion. 

‘Are you quite alright, laddie?’ Bofur called from where he was supervising his own brother’s attempt to reach dry land. ‘You did us a powerful service there. It would be a poor repayment if we be letting you drown now.’ 

‘He says he’s fine.’ Thorin rumbled, he turned away from Bofur back to Bilbo and they met each other's eyes. 

There was an unmistakable quiet sense of agreement between them that didn’t need to be voiced. It was an intangible, formless thing but strong enough to bind them tight together. If you had to put it into words it would have been ‘You are important to me’. The enormity of it made Bilbo’s heart beat faster. He could see it reflected in Thorin’s own face, that slight smile again. 

It was enough for Bilbo. He could face a dragon for this. Which was a very good thing because he soon would be.


	4. Chapter 4

They had done it. The kingdom of Erebor was held by the line of Durin once again. Smaug was gone. With a great clatter and sweeping of wings he had left the mountain vanquished, hissing as he went. What was left behind was what remained of the company of Thorin Oakenshield and a treasure hoard the like of which the world had never seen before. 

It was only now beginning to dawn on them what a terrible deed they had done. Laketown would suffer for their actions this night, there was no mistaking it and there was not a thing that any of them could do about it. The company was left with no choice but to remain and fortify themselves in the gloom and dust of Erebor. Every being between the mountain and the Western Shores knew what they were about. The sad fact was if the company left there was no knowing what raiding force would seize it in their absence. So, this is how it came to be that a handful of dwarves and a hobbit had the impossible task of guarding a mountain, an ocean of golden treasure and its legacy of misery and violence. 

It was with these unhappy thoughts that Bilbo went through Erebor’s dark halls, driven to wretchedness as he was by the sight of his friends sorting through piles of gold looking for the stone he knew they would not find, not if they turned over every coin, chest and jewel in Erebor for it was stowed away safely in the pocket of his coat. 

Bilbo had an excellent poker face when needed but he did not enjoy the feeling of keeping such a secret (even if truly he was doing the right thing). It felt too much like, well, theft, and so when he emerged from the shadows on to the balcony where Thorin stood he was far from overjoyed. Bilbo could only feign that the sight did not fill him with unease and for more reason than one. 

Luckily his efforts did not appear to draw much notice. ‘Behold the wonders of Erebor, Master Baggins.’ Thorin said in dreamy triumphant. He was looking down at the gold that filled the halls of the mountain as if he could not tear his gaze away. 

“It’s … magnificent,’ Bilbo said. ‘Truly,’ he added for good measure as he felt he had not been particularly convincing in his awe. Thorin did not notice, so enraptured was he as he gazed out at the piled wealth of his ancestors. 

After Smaug had left the mountain Thorin had been solemn yet triumphant. They had driven off the dragon, a mighty task worthy of their ancestors and one that would live on in tales for ages past their lifetimes. He had then vanished, only to reappear draped in ancient moth-eaten furs and faded armour. When Balin had seen Thorin so the colour had drained from his face as if he had seen a ghost. Bilbo wondered what echo of the past Thorin had dragged up for the old dwarf. 

‘A fine job.’ Thorin said, but as praise went it was distant. ‘A service that can never be repaid.’ 

‘I believe one fourteenth was discussed. There’s a contract to prove it. Well I don’t have it on me because it got pulped to mush but there is the spirit of thing to consider.’ 

Thorin smiled. ‘You shall have the payment you were promised and more, you may take whatever you like. There is plenty here to choose from.’ 

Bilbo followed Thorin’s gaze and felt that the wonders of Erebor could have done with a thorough cleaning after years of being sat on by a dragon. He had become very well acquainted with what felt like most of it as he ran and slid down the vast hills of treasure, dodging teeth and dragon fire in a race for his very life. He broke into a cold sweat just thinking about it. 

Bilbo stopped and frowned; it was dawning on him that Thorin had yet to actually look away from the gold. The balcony where they stood was dark, no lamps were lit. They were left in gloom and stone with only the glimmer of the gold to light the vast halls of the kingdom of Erebor. It was... odd. 

‘Thorin’ Bilbo said and lifted a hand to cup Thorin’s face. Thorin smiled at him and instinctually reached up to grasp Bilbo’s hand but his gaze was dragged away once again. 

The gold was paradoxical in its endless heaps, for it had rendered itself worthless in its vast volume. Bilbo was beginning to have serious doubts about the wisdom of staying in the mountain. Like Mirkwood, there was a taint that lay upon the place that felt like sulphur and scales. It was so rich that one could smell it in the air. 

Bilbo felt a great deal of distaste; he could not prize the gold. He knew it was nothing in comparison to his ring, tucked safely away and so he did not want any of it. Smaug had lain upon the gold for years and had never so much as spent a single coin. Bilbo wondered out loud as to why the dragon had wanted it so very much, the rotten old miser. 

This seemed to trigger something deep within Thorin, he jerked away from the edge of the balcony and began to walk quickly, sweeping a heavy arm around Bilbo and pulling him in close as they walked. ‘We must protect the gold.’ He said, voice low and ragged, breath hot on Bilbo’s neck. 

Bilbo avoided deftly the fur lining of the cloak dragging across the cold stone floor. ‘Protect it? Why would we need to do a thing like that? What about the rest of the mountain?’ 

Thorin pulled Bilbo closer to him still, enveloped in the folds of his dusty cloak. ‘To defend the gold and to defend Erebor. There can be no other reason.’ 

‘To defend Erebor? There is nothing here! Just gold and the stench of a dragon.’ Bilbo said, greatly surprised. This is not why they were here. He had not forgotten the friends they had left in Laketown, defenceless against the dragon the company had inadvertently sent down on them. ‘We must help the others. Gandalf would not want this.’ 

‘He is not here. I am here. And you will all do as I say. We must protect the gold, the treasure of my ancestors. We must find the Arkenstone.’ 

Bilbo was taken aback. Thorin was the leader of the company, it was generally expected that you did as he said. But this felt off, very much too secure in expectation of unquestioning obedience. ‘That’s not right, and you know it.’ 

Thorin seemed to teeter slightly in his agitation, he then calmed and strode away. Bilbo let out a slight breath of relief. He turned away, feeling as uneasy as when he had ridden the barrel in the river of Mirkwood. The Arkenstone was a heavy weight in his pocket. 

‘Don’t speak’ Thorin’s arms from behind, lips almost touching his ear. Everything smelt like ash and smoke. ‘I should not have spoken to you so. But I am no longer certain of those can be trusted.’ 

Bilbo tried to smile and failed. If Thorin was trying to reassure him it was very much having the opposite effect. A serious concern was beginning to grow within his mind. Concern that there was something not quite right. 

‘You can trust anyone of us, Thorin. We came all this way together; they would all do anything for you.’ 

Thorin pressed his lips to Bilbo’s hands, first one then the other. ‘I trust you, and only you.’ The inclination, the slow regard between them was still there, if everything else had become displaced. You must help me move the gold.’ 

Bilbo was a sensible hobbit; when he saw a thing, he did not agree with he spoke out (for all the good it would do him. Thorin had become most unreasonable.). ‘Gold, yet again with all this talk about gold! This fixation, it’s like a sickness. It’s not right,’ Bilbo said, cold misery forming in his chest. ‘This isn’t why we came here, all that way!’ 

He made no mention of honour, of the duty that Thorin owed to the dwarves of his company that had given so much to get him this far. He felt whatever that had formed between them what not survive the utterance of that particular word used against Thorin Oakenshield, whatever state his mind was in. 

Thorin gave him a look of such outrage and within the ugly paranoia finally revealed itself. It was only a glimmer but Bilbo felt it was enough and he did not want to see it grow, aware as he was of its consuming nature. Where it had come from, who could tell? There had been no indication before that Thorin was prone to such tendencies. Anything sensible Bilbo said simply bounced off Thorin’s thick skull, for all that stiff necked pride. To think he had once found it so appealing! 

Bilbo mastered himself, his own good sense coming back to him. As a reasonable hobbit, he would make peace. 

‘Forgive me,’ he said finally, tired to the very core of his bones after stealing from a dragon and then fighting it as well for good measure. The Baggins had never done things by halves. ‘These last few days have worn me down.’ Nothing before in the gentle rolling hills of the Shire could have ever prepared him for times like these. 

The ugly emotion in Thorin’s face lessened slightly, ‘Go rest then.’ He seemed to take Bilbo’s acquiescence to be intended as an apology, rather than a polite declaration of a temporary cease fire. Bilbo did not feel the need to correct him (such is the prerogative of Kings, Bilbo supposed and if you thought his teeth were gritted you would not be far wrong). 

Bilbo made to leave and was glad for he was indeed spent and had said all he wished to say on the matter of gold. But before he could go as he intended, Thorin said something that surprised them both with calmness. 

‘The line of Durin is in your debt. I could not have come this far without you.’ 

For a single moment, Bilbo was relieved. Thorin sounded less stark raving and more lucid than anything he had said so far in this very unsatisfactory encounter. But this feeling faded. He saw that the haze had drifted back over Thorin’s face, and his eyes turned both remote and intense, his gaze turned back to where the gold was piled in shapes that Bilbo felt he could come to dislike immensely. 

Bilbo chose to walk away then rather than remain with the unmoving shape of Thorin. To try and speak to him now would be like shouting across a great void for Thorin had gone somewhere else, a place where none could follow. 

Despite it all, Bilbo would not let go of the hope that it would still all work out for the best. The Arkenstone was now a constant presence in his thoughts. It seemed to hold the answer in the light it emitted, a formless plan developing around its gleaming shape. Bilbo knew he must find Balin and press the dwarf for more information, anything, a shred for guidance would do. Bilbo had to do something. He must do something.


End file.
